


Definitely Spying. Definitely.

by MoMoMomma



Series: Spying Series [2]
Category: Captain America, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Drawing, Implied Technical Incest, Kinky Avengers, Multi, Pet Names, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sexual Humor, Spying, Technically Voyeurism, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers isn't exactly sure how he managed to stumble upon the footage someone (goddamnit Tony) has been taking of the tower inhabitants and their lovers. And he knows he shouldn't be watching it. And he certainly shouldn't be sketching scenes.</p><p>This wouldn't be such an issue if he didn't have such attractive team mates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definitely Spying. Definitely.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from! I...apparently Tony didn't hide the files as well as he thought. Or there's something else at work here. I wish I could draw anything more than stick figures to show you the images I see in my head when I describe these things because they're gorgeous. One day, technology will make this available to us. Regardless, enjoy the relationships from Steve's point of view :D

Steve Rogers knew what he was doing was wrong. And while he wasn’t the paragon of virtue the world seemed to think he was (see: dating an ex-KGB assassin), he did still have a very strict moral compass about what was right and wrong. Therefore what he was currently doing was so far beyond wrong it was embarrassing to think about, let alone do.

It was spying. Period.

No matter how else he tried to dress it up or use fancy words, looking in on his team mates while they were with their lovers was wrong and dirty and bad and….

_He couldn’t stop._

It wasn’t anything dirty, even though a few times he’d had to go surprise Bucky in the shower or the gym because he’d gotten so worked up. But Steve was still uncomfortable with going to anatomy sketching classes and he was too shy to _ask_ his team mates to pose for him. (Except for Bucky of course but that usually ended in looking back up to see Bucky stroking himself and leering at him.)

Which was incredibly hot, but not very helpful or conducive to finishing any pictures.

So when Steve had found the files buried in the Stark computer system—stumbled upon them while trying to figure out how to find something he’d downloaded was a more apt description, though he felt as though he’d almost been _led_ to find them—he simply couldn’t look away. Though he internally raged at the idea that someone (and if anyone tried to tell him it **wasn’t** Stark then Captain America or not he was going to call them a liar straight to their face) was spying on all of them during, he assumed, their most private moments.

He now had sketchbooks and sketchbooks of drawings, his team mates all in different positions with their lovers. There was more than that in there, of course, he wasn’t a complete pervert. But one book in particular got drug out every Friday night while Bucky was off sparring with Clint and Natasha and Steve sat at his computer, watching the recordings from the previous week.

He had his favorite sketches, of course, every artist did. Any artist that said they didn’t was lying through their teeth, at least in his opinion.

********************************

His favorite of Bruce and Natasha was one he’d captured in his mind just before he heard Bucky’s shower turn off and had to scramble to close everything down. Bruce had Natasha pinned to the wall, his sheer strength surprising Steve since he had never really seen the scientist use his body for anything more strenuous than yoga.

Her nails dug into his back, her head thrown back exposing the long line of her throat. Steve could practically _feel_ the intensity in the picture, rather proud of himself for catching the moment. Bruce’s head was bent low, maybe in concentration on his movements, maybe focused on making himself last longer.

God knows Steve’s had to think of baseball scores a few times when Bucky’s bent him over the edge of the bed and tongued him open until he was screaming and begging to cum, only to have his—wonderful, cruel, beautiful asshole—lover tell him to wait.

His body was curled protectively—no, no, that wasn’t the right word— _possessively_ around the assassin, hands digging into her hips just as hard as she was digging into his back. Steve imagined if he could have seen their eyes, heard anything more than their desperate pants and moans over the rush of blood in his ears, he would have seen the true love and affection they felt for each other shining through.

At least, in his romantic mind, he’d like to think that’s what he would have seen.

***********************************

It felt….wrong, more so than the whole thing did, to spy on someone who’d admitted being a fan since he was a child. But Steve couldn’t bring himself to care after seeing Phil and Clint together a few times. They were so gorgeous together, a counterbalance of playful, needy submission and powerful, caring dominance.

The Daddy thing had thrown him for a complete loop, but both of them seemed to enjoy it, so who was he to judge what made them happy?

His favorite sketch of them wasn’t of them making love, though what they were doing was definitely not appropriate for public by any means.

Clint was kneeling at Phil’s feet, looking up at him with a look of complete trust and love Steve had tried to convey in the picture. He was swallowing Phil’s—surprisingly thick, given how wiry the man’s build was—cock, a slight trail of saliva slicking its way down his throat from where it had escaped the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t the sexuality of the act that he wanted to convey, though even Steve had to admit it was really hot.

He wanted to show the trust and adoration and love that was evident in the more subtle aspects of the scene. Steve had spent hours sketching out the way Phil’s hand was buried in Clint’s hair, gently guiding him exactly where he wanted him, spent days trying to sketch out the way that Clint sunk into his submissive position, body completely comfortable in his act of subservience.

As opposed to Bruce and Natasha, where he wasn’t sure whether there was love in their eyes while they fucked or not, the affection was clear in Phil and Clint, and if Steve opted to ride Bucky slowly the night after he’d seen them together, murmuring about how much he loved him, how lucky he was to have him, well….that was his business.

*******************************

Thor and Loki was….a shock.

And that was putting it lightly.

But after Steve fought past his immediate urge to run in with shield in hand, he could see the beauty in their union too. And that picture turned out to be just as beautiful. He could see now what Natasha had meant by saying they were viewed as gods. It was evident in their bodies, in their actions, in their coupling.

Sketching them out had been hard, Steve had fought down the urge to twist it into something darker, though the love between them was evident.

But his favorite of the two was one he’d poured over for weeks, wanting to show it perfectly and putting just as much effort into it as he would any other picture. Loki was straddling Thor, sunk down on his cock with his entire body a mass of controlled tension and power. The act wasn’t what he focused on, Steve rarely did in his sketches, but more the emotion that he could feel through the video.

Thor’s hands were resting on his hips, not holding him in place but rather balancing him, the protector even in this. Loki had one hand braced on his—well, you couldn’t really call them brothers anymore, not blood brothers anyways—lover’s chest, the other reached up to cup against Thor’s cheek.

It had taken Steve hours to figure out just how to shade it correctly to show the difference between Loki’s cold pallor and Thor’s golden warmth, but he’d finally done it. The love was evident in their eyes, and in their positions. He’d seen Thor go up against Loki and knew the bigger Asgardian could at least match his brother, if not over-whelm him completely. But, much like he and Bucky, Thor chose to be a more submissive partner.

Perhaps he had his own reasons, just like Steve did.

You could plainly see the trust in Thor’s body, relaxed despite the lust Steve imagined cloaked around them. He was completely in his element, not frightened in the least, a lover sharing a quiet moment of ease and ecstasy. Loki, on the other hand, still had his own reservations. It was obvious in the straight line of his spine—and while Steve could agree having a cock up your ass did tend to straighten out the posture a bit, this was a whole different tenseness—and in the way he held himself, shoulders stiffened and curled slightly, as if even during love-making he expected to be humiliated and cast out.

Steve had sketched them as best he could, and hid the drawing away, ripping it from the sketchbook and storing it in a locked safe he kept. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, but there was something there, a fragile trust between the two, that made the idea of someone discovering the sketch turn Steve’s stomach. The love and trust was tangible, as was the sadness of past betrayals and lives gone off the expected path.

And that, regardless of how the two gods looked, was the most beautiful thing in the room.

*********************************

Rhodey and Tony shouldn’t have shocked him. The billionaire was constantly hanging off Colonel Rhodes shoulders, whether it be at gala’s or at home in the kitchen. Then again, in some ways Steve could honestly say it _had_ shocked him. Tony was touchy with everyone, almost inappropriately so, but then again, Steve remembered the surprising touch of Howard’s hand on his stomach, the engineer brusquely shoving him this way and that to take measurements with a joke always handy. Tony was his father in so many ways, and different in the same aspect. More…emotionally connected, whereas Howard viewed most people as things to be studied, concluded, and placed aside with the smug knowledge of a puzzle completed.

So Tony grabbing for Bucky’s bionic arm, or pulling gently at Natasha or Bruce’s curls, or sitting half on top of Clint in the living room in an attempt to win the video game was nothing new. Him being so clingy to Rhodes shouldn’t have set off any warnings, but once again, the emotions were different.

 Something that was explained when the audio kicked in on the video.

Steve knew Tony hadn’t had the best childhood, a fact that still made him wince when he tried to reconcile the young joker he’d known with the callous and cold father Howard had become. It explained the need for affection and endearments.

Though even Steve couldn’t have predicted Tony’s…extreme reaction to the words.

His favored sketch of the two, one that had taken forever since he was a bit out of practice drawing to express any other skin color but white or tan—and the contrast between Rhodey’s dark skin and Tony’s lighter tan was ridiculously attractive, something Steve knew immediately he wanted to capture—was probably one of his best works. He’d even thought about giving it to the two, before realizing just how stupid of an idea that was and slapping himself in the forehead with his sketchbook.

They were in the lab, on top of one of the lab tables—that Steve was now _very_ careful to not lean against because sterilization didn’t get rid of the ick factor of knowing your hand was where a puddle of cum had been—with Tony sitting on Rhodey’s lap, facing outward with his legs hooked over the outside of the Colonel’s. He was in the middle of an arch, his body bowed to press Rhodes’ cock deeper inside himself, head almost resting on his lover’s shoulder.

Rhodes had one hand wrapped firmly around the base of Tony’s cock—and it had made his cheeks burn like the sun but he’d just _had_ to capture the line of pre-cum slicking down the length and over Rhodey’s fingers—the other splayed on Tony’s diaphragm, the arc reactor neatly fitting atop the webbing between his pointer finger and thumb. His head was turned in so that his mouth, with the corner’s curled up into a loving and devious smile, was right next to Tony’s ear.

Steve had wished there was a way to express audio in a sketch, because Tony’s deep moans and gasps at Rhodey’s murmured ‘darling’s and ‘sweetheart’s and ‘honey baby’s were ridiculously hot.

Of course when he’d tried it with Bucky all he’d gotten was Bucky pulling back from where he was sinking teeth into Steve’s shoulder to drawl “did’ja hit chur head or sumthin’, Rogers?”

Bucky Barnes was an asshole. If not for that _fantastic_ cock…..

Tony’s whole body was a mess of motion, even on the page. The tension in his muscles evident as he fucked himself back onto his lover, Rhodey always keeping his hands on him, always protecting and holding Tony’s body to him.

Steve figured that was the best part of the picture. Tony was in a precarious position, but his trust and love was evident in the way that he let his body go, trusting Rhodey with his body and his heart.

***************************

“Bucky, damnit!” Steve tossed his pencil down and glared at the man sprawled in the arm chair, his bionic fist wrapped around his thick cock and an insouciant tilt to his mouth.

He set his sketchbook to the side, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing himself back into his own chair, pouting at his lover. Yes, it was immature, but damnit, he wanted a picture of Bucky that wasn’t him in battle or joking around in the house. He wanted a memento of his lover, wanted to sketch the picture he’d always wanted to—even back in their tiny apartment, licking the sweat off his lip and sitting on his hands to keep from grabbing his sketchbook as Bucky strode around in the humid summer with only his underwear hanging dangerously low on the addicting thrust of his hipbones—but Bucky was being an _asshole_.

“Come on, Stevie. Don’t tell me you don’t wanna use those hands for something better? Why draw me when you could get over here and ride me?”

Steve flushed at the hot burn of desire that unfurled in his stomach, biting down on his lower lip and shaking his head.

“No! Bucky, I want to draw you. This is the hundredth time I’ve tried, and every single time you do this and ruin it!”

“ _Bozhe moi_ , Steve.” Bucky sat forward and raked a hand through his long brown locks, shoving them away from his face. “I can’t help it, alright?”

“Can’t help it?! How hard is _not_ touching your cock for a little while something that you find difficult?”

“Because of you!” Bucky snapped, standing tall and placing his hands on his hips, distracting Steve for a moment at the fantastic contrast of bright metal against tanned skin.

Once he realized what Bucky had said he uncrossed his arms and sat forward, looking up at him with confusion.

“Me? What in the hell did I do?”

“You look so—“ Bucky made a frustrated noise and shook his hand towards Steve, a motion reminiscent of their arguments before when Steve mentioned the army for the thousandth time.

“So what?!”

“So goddamn hot! All that fucking concentration and you just light up when you draw and I can’t—it reminds me of when you weren’t so serum-ed up. Little Stevie Rogers with the paint smears on his pants and charcoal on his face.”

Steve sat for a moment, mouth hanging open at the admission from the man whose usual conversations about emotions consisted of grunts and aborted hand motions. He stood and strode over to his lover, pulling Bucky in close and shivering at the way the man’s hands immediately curved around his waist, holding him close. They stood for a moment, Steve smiling softly until the moment was broken by him realizing just what Bucky had admitted to him. He yanked back and met his lover’s eyes, glaring into them.

“You wanted to fuck me when I was that little puny artist?!”

“Oh, god,” Bucky groaned, that same smirk sliding onto his face as he shifted his still hard cock against Steve. “So fucking badly, Steve. You have no idea how many times I jacked off thinking about you choking on my cock, carrying you around while I fucked you.”

Steve shivered at the sudden thickening of his own cock, moaning at the images that flashed into his head. He dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, relishing in the cool metal against his flushed skin.

“Yeah? Why didn’t you?”

“Scared, darlin’. Thought if I fucked my cock into you, I’d hurt you. You were so goddamn tiny, Steve. Thought about more though. Thought about how I could pin you down on that shitty mattress, lick you open, make you beg and cum all over yourself.”

Steve interrupted Bucky’s fantasies with a moan and a jerk of his hips against the assassin’s. He let Bucky drag him over to the bed, stripping him down and throwing him onto the bed. Soon enough his screams and Bucky’s rough growls filled the room, taking Steve’s mind off the fantasies for the moment.

Good news was, in addition to scorching hot sex that left even Steve panting and shaking in the aftershocks, he knew exactly what he could sketch Bucky for his birthday this year.

 


End file.
